


and we keep going.

by no_writing_just_ideas_without_motivation



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington & Martha Washington's Adopted Son, Coming Out, Cutting, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gender Dysphoria, George Washington is a Dad, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-binary character, Self-Harm, Trans Alexander Hamilton, Trans Male Character, and spanish, google translated french, later on tho, like real self harm y’all, major trigger warning, so does Alexander actually, they get misgendered a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_writing_just_ideas_without_motivation/pseuds/no_writing_just_ideas_without_motivation
Summary: Alexander Hamilton is so, so tired.He’s so tired, and he’s so done.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 36
Kudos: 142





	1. Of Paring Knives and Sad Times

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this work is... very dark. I was serious about that in the tags. 
> 
> Major trigger warning for homo/transphobia, self-harm, depression... 
> 
> Most of the stuff Alexander goes through here, like the way his depression works, is the same as how mine works. 
> 
> Me? Self-projecting onto the founding fathers of America? Absolutely

Alexander was tired. So, so, so very tired. The tiredness drug at his very bones, holding him captive until he could barely even force himself out of bed. 

But he did. 

He had to. 

“Good morning, love,” Martha Washington said, smiling at him from over the kitchen island where she was making... something. Bacon? Pancakes? Eggs? Sausage? Alexander didn’t really care. 

He nodded silently and sat down at the counter, not lifting his eyes from the granite patterned top. 

“Want breakfast? Chocolate chip pancakes,” Martha said in a sing-song, sliding a plate full of pancakes and bacon in front of him. 

Alexander shrugged, simply staring at it. God, he was so fucking tired. 

“Alexandria, mon ami!” Lafayette, the other of the Washington’s foster kid, bounded down the stairs, way too happy for so early in the morning, and came up behind Alexander, pressing his front against the smaller man’s back in a hug. 

Alexander flinched at the misgendering and the physical touch, fighting to keep it from being visible. 

Laf frowned. “Est-ce que ça va?”

“Tired,” Alexander mumbled, eyes still on the counter, shoulders hunched. 

Just leave me alone. 

Martha cooed gently, reaching to touch his cheek and make him meet her eyes. “Poor thing. How about you stay home today, hm?”

It was a command, not a question. 

He didn’t want to stay home, but Alexander was too tired to argue. 

“‘Kay,” he muttered, standing and going back up the stairs to his room. 

“Is she alright?” Alexander heard Laf ask as he left. 

Martha sighed. “I don’t know.”

Alexander didn’t hear the last of the conversation, disappearing into his room and shutting the door behind him. He collapsed on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and sighing. He reached for his phone and flipped through six different apps, but nothing kept his attention. He picked up his journal and started at a blank page, but words refused to come. He opened Netflix and put on The Great British Baking Show, but it bored him even further. 

Finally, he laid back in bed and stayed that way for what felt like hours, staring at his ceiling and thinking. 

God, he was thinking, and he couldn’t stop. 

He looked down at his chest, staring blankly at the fabric-colored mounds. 

God, he hated them. He hated his body. He hated himself. He hated everything, and he hated that he hated it because he had no reason to hate it. His life was fine, so much better than billions of other’s lives, and he was so fucking selfish and he didn’t even deserve to have the life he did. 

He rolled out of bed, standing still for a minute until he built up the energy to keep moving. 

He hadn’t cut in months, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care that he was about to relapse. 

No one else would care anyway. 

He made his way to the kitchen and pulled open the knife drawer, skimming his eyes over them until he saw the one he always used, to the point where it would almost be bad luck to use a different one. It was small, the blade barely the width of his thumb, one of those little ones used for basically anything in the kitchen, and razor sharp. He grabbed it, slid down against the cupboards until he reached the floor, the handles of the cabinets digging into his back, and pressed the knife to his wrist. 

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like anything, for that matter, and Alexander felt like that was a failure too. 

His brows furrowed slightly and he slid it against his wrist again, and again and again until blood dripped on the hardwood floors, staining the dark wood red. 

Oops, Alexander thought, staring at it blankly. 

“Alexandria, ma chérie?” Lafayette’s lilting voice filtered through the house, and Alexander looked up. 

Laf was home? 

The Frenchman rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw Alexander on the floor, and Laf’s eyes widened in shock and fear. 

“Alexandria?” He breathed. “Are you—?”

Alexander tried to feel fear at Laf finding him, but nothing came, and he just let his head rest against the cabinets. “Thought you were at school.”

Laf shook his head. “Martha had me stay home. Mon chou, what happened? Did you cut yourself cooking?” His eyes roved over the counter, probably searching for a cutting board or a block of cheese and coming back to Alexander when he found nothing. “Oh, ma chérie.”

“Estoy bien,” Alexander murmured, waving a hand dismissively. “Just tired.”

“You are speaking in Spanish, mon ami,” Lafayette dead panned. “That is— how you say? Bullshit.”

Alexander huffed a tiny laugh at the word, sounding funny in Laf’s accented voice. 

“Has this been happening... long?” Laf stepped closer, looking cautious. 

Alexander rolled his head to look at him. “You can come closer. I’m not a cornered animal.”

Lafayette frowned, but he did step closer until he towered over Alexander, hands on his hips. “I do not need to tell you this is bad?”

Alexander shook his head. 

“I do not need to tell you they need to be cleaned?” 

Alexander shook his head again. 

“How many?”

Alexander shrugged. “Fresh? Twenty. Maybe. Total? I don’t know.”

Lafayette breathed out a harsh breath. “You say I do not need to tell you they need to be cleaned, yet there you sit. Come. Bathroom.”

Alexander slowly pushed himself to his feet, throwing the knife in the sink and following Laf to the bathroom, wrist still dripping onto the white carpet. “Laf, the carpet. Martha and George will see.”

“You should have thought of that before,” Laf replied in a monotone, pushing open the door to the bathroom. 

“You mean you’re gonna tell them?” 

Lafayette patted the counter for Alexander to hop up and bent down to grab the first aid kit out of the cabinet. He wouldn’t meet Alexander’s gaze. “If they ask. Which they will. About the blood. And the knife. And the bandages. Give me your arm.”

“So you won’t tell them.”

Lafayette started patting at the blood with a pad of gauze, perhaps a little harsher than necessary. “They will ask.”

They continued on in silence for a few minutes until Alexander cleared his throat and quietly asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Laf paused for a tiny part of a second before grabbing the rubbing alcohol and more gauze. “Truthfully? Yes. I am mad at you for not telling me what you are going through and saying you are always fine when you are not. I am mad you do not want me to tell. I am mad you do not seem to care that you have hurt yourself. This will sting.”

Without further ado, he squeezed the alcohol-soaked gauze over Alexander’s wrist. Alexander hissed, trying to jerk his wrist back, but Laf caught his hand and glared at him. 

“Sorry,” Alexander muttered, physically forcing himself to relax. “Hurts.”

“You are not used to it?”

Alexander shook his head, confused. 

Lafayette’s brows furrowed. “You have cleaned them before, haven’t you?”

Alexander’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. 

Lafayette rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead and took a deep breath. “Do not move.”

Alexander stared at the counter between his legs, fighting to keep himself from flinching with every one of Laf’s harsh strokes. 

“These are deep, Alexandria,” Laf said suddenly. Alexander looked up to see the Frenchman inspecting his arm. “They need stitches.”

Alexander shook his head adamantly, jerking his arm away and holding it to his chest. “No. No way. You can tell George and Martha whatever the hell you want, but I’m not going to a hospital. They’re going to say the Washington’s are bad guardians and send me back to the foster home and I’ll never see you or John or Herc again and—“

“Shh, Alexandria, ma chérie, ça va.” Lafayette pulled Alexander into his chest, stroking his back as the man trembled. “No one is sending you back. We love you, mon petit lion.”

Alexander whimpered. 

Laf sighed. “Martha is a nurse. Perhaps she can do them, hm?”

Alexander nodded. 

Lafayette continued, wrapping Alexander’s wrist in a clean white bandage and helping him off the counter. 

“I’m gonna... go to bed,” Alexander muttered, turning to go into his room. He moved to shut the door, but Laf held it open and raised an eyebrow at him. “What, Laf?” 

“Do not sigh at me, petit lion,” Lafayette warned, stepping into Alexander’s room and laying on his bed. “I am not leaving you alone now. Come and... cuddle? That is what you Americans call it?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what cuddling is, you French fuck,” Alexander grumbled, collapsing into bed next to him and curling into his arms. 

Lafayette laughed, hugging him tight and pulling Alexander’s face into his throat. He sighed, rubbing a hand over Alexander’s back. “Mon petit lion.”

“Yes?”

“I just love you, sister. I cannot— I cannot lose you. And John. And Hercules. And the Washingtons. We love you so much, petit lion. Why do you do this to yourself?”

Alexander shrugged. “It helps. With the— it— it helps me... feel. Something. Anything. I don’t— I don’t know.”

They were silent. 

“Laf?” Alexander whispered in a small voice. 

“Yes, mon ami?”

“Can you... can you lay on top of me?” Alexander asked, shutting his eyes nervously. “Is that weird? Sorry. Sorry, that’s weird, never mind.”

Lafayette hushed him, rolling them over until his full weight pressed Alexander into the mattress, their bodies touching at every point. “Like this?”

Alexander melted into the mattress, Laf’s body warm and hard on his. “Yeah. Yeah, thank you.”

“Does this help?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Alexander thought for a moment. “I guess the pressure. It feels good. Comforting. I don’t know.” 

Lafayette hummed in agreement. 

“Laf?”

“Oui?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, mon cher.”

“Te amo,” Alexander whispered. 

Lafayette stroked his side. “Je t'aime, mon petit lion.”


	2. Of Breaks and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’alllll
> 
> TW: not much, just some internalized transphobia, mentions of transphobia from other characters, self-harm, someone drops the f-bomb

Alexander feel asleep in Lafayette’s arms, finally feeling safe for the first time in years. 

He dreamt, but he couldn’t remember what about, and he woke with a start at the slam of the front door. 

“Alexandria, Lafayette, I’m home!” George’s voice boomed through the house. 

Alexander’s breath hitched in fear. 

Laf, now next to him with their legs tangled together, groaned and stirred. “Petit lion?” He murmured sleepily, blinking at the smaller man. “What is wrong?”

“George is home,” Alexander whispered, eyes wide and scared. “Laf, he’s gonna see, he’s gonna kick me out, Laf, I can’t—“

“Shh, mon petit, it’s alright, George would never kick you out, he only wants to help you,” Laf reassured, sitting up and taking Alexander’s hands in his. “Let him help you, Alexandria.”

As if on cue, the footsteps coming up the stairs stopped, and Alexander knew that George had seen the blood staining the white carpet. 

“Kids?” George’s panicked voice sounded, and he burst through Alexander’s door to see him holding onto Lafayette like a lifeline, sobbing into his chest. “Alexandria? Lafayette? Are you alright? I saw blood, is someone hurt?”

Laf gently tugged on a strand of Alexander’s hair. “Mon chou? You must tell him.”

Alexander shook his head. 

“Alexandria,” Laf sighed. 

“What, tell me what?” George questioned, worried. “What happened? Is she okay? Alexandria?”

Instead of answering, Alexander shoved his bandaged wrist towards the man, pushing further into Laf’s arms and releasing a sob. 

George stepped forward, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently taking Alexander’s hand. “What’s this?”

“I— I cut myself,” Alexander whispered, barely audible. 

“Cooking? That’s fine, happens all the time, I’m not mad— oh,” George caught Laf’s sad gaze and stopped mid sentence, face falling. He took a deep breath and leaned back. “ _Oh_.”

Laf nodded. 

George took a deep breath, fighting to stay calm. “Did you— have they been cleaned?” 

Laf nodded. 

“What did you use, Alexandria?”

“The paring knife. The black one,” Laf responded, stroking Alexander’s hair. 

George nodded after a moment. They could work with that. “Alexandria, I need to see them. Is that okay?”

Alexander shook his head. “Just Martha.”

George sighed. “Alright. I’m going to go call her, okay?”

Alexander nodded, and George left. 

“See, cheri?” Laf murmured, lips in Alexander’s hair. “That was not so bad.”

Alexander shrugged. “Have you talked to the others?”

“Hercules and John? Non,” Lafayette said, reaching for Alexander’s phone on the bedside table. He handed it to Alexander, who opened it and immediately winced. 

“10 missed calls from John, 4 from Hercules, and they totally blew up the group chat,” Alexander said, scrolling through the hundreds of texts and smiling at his friend’s antics. “Apparently John fought Adams and got suspended for a week. Hercules is  _pissed_.  John’s such an idiot, I swear—“

“Alexandria,” Laf interrupted. 

Alexander looked up. “Yes?”

Laf cradled his face in his hand, stroking a thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to tell them?”

George returned, phone in hand, saving Alexander from having to answer. His face was somber. 

“Martha is on her way,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in the center of the room. 

He wasn’t good with this type of... stuff.

He cleared his throat. “Look, son—“

Alexander’s eyes went wide and he panicked for a second. 

Did George know? Did George know he was trans? Did George know he was unnatural? Oh god, George was gonna kick him out, he was gonna send him back, he— 

Alexander calmed himself. No, there was no way George knew. He called everybody ‘son’, Alexander reminded himself; it was just habit for the man. 

“Notcha son,” Alexander mumbled anyway, just to be safe. 

George winced. “Right. Sorry, kid. Look, I don’t know what pushed you to do... this, and I’m not going to ask until you’re ready to tell me, but I do think you should tell somebody. Maybe... a therapist?”

Alexander looked up sharply. “You’re not... sending me back?”

George’s eyes widened. He rushed forward, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Alexander into an awkward hug. “No, Jesus, I’m not  _sending you back_ ,  you’re my daughter, Martha and I love you, we just want to help you, Alexandria. Whatever that help is, therapy, time off from school...”

Alexander shook his head adamantly, pulling away. “No, I’m not taking time off from school. I gotta keep my grades up and get into a good college somewhere.”

George looked pained. “Kid, you’re months ahead in every class. Take a break.”

“No.”

George sighed. He knew he couldn’t argue with Alexander, but maybe Martha would have more luck. The woman was a mastermind. 

“Alexandria?” Martha’s voice, tinged with worry, rang through the house. “Boys?”

Alexander tensed, swallowing hard. 

Martha entered the room. She took in the sight of all three boys sitting on Alexander’s bed, Alexander’s wrapped arm, Laf’s abnormally subdued aura, George’s panic hidden with a layer of fake calm, and immediately pointed to the door. “You two, out.”

Laf planted a kiss on Alexander’s forehead and George ruffled his hair before both stood to leave, closing the door on their way out. 

Martha, who Alexander realized was carrying a heavy duty first aid kit, sat on the bed across from him, cross legged. “Lemme see?”

Alexander hesitated briefly before giving her his arm and she unwrapped it, taking in the sight with only a slight pause to give away her emotions. 

Alexander watched her carefully as she methodically checked the wounds and cleaned them again before preparing a needle and thread. 

Her jaw was clenched and her eyes shone with unshed tears, forcing her to blink every few seconds. 

Alexander cleared his throat. “...Martha?”

She looked up, forcing a smile. “Yes, love?”

“I’m sorry,” Alexander whispered, looking down and fiddling with the bed sheets. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. If you want to... to send me back, I’d understand—“

“None of that, now,” she said briskly, poking the needle into his skin. 

He hissed, fighting not to flinch away. “What?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “We love you, Alexandria. Whether you want to believe it or not, you’re our daughter, and we have no plans to get rid of you.”

Alexander found that, for once, words had failed him, and he simply nodded. 

~*~*~

The next day was a Saturday, and Alexander woke up shivering in a cold sweat. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but he knew they weren’t good. 

He sat up and turned on the lamp on his bedside table, checking his phone and seeing that it was almost two in the morning. 

There was a text from John five minutes ago. 

_ You up? _

Alexander shot back a  _ yeah  _ and John’s contact photo, a picture of him gagging after taking a shot of mint syrup, flashed on the screen. Alexander swiped answer and fell back against his bed with the phone pressed to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey,” John replied, sounding sleepy. 

Alexander waited. 

John sighed. “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Bad dreams?”

Alexander hummed, fiddling with the strings on his pajama pants. “Something like that. You?”

“My dad’s pissed at me. Again.” 

“For what?”

“Getting suspended.”

Alexander chuckled. “Right, about that.”

John groaned. “He was being an ass.”

“He’s John Adams, he’s always being an ass. I’m afraid I’m gonna need more info than that, babe. What did he do?”

Alexander could almost hear the eye roll on John’s end of the line. “He was talking shit about trans people.”

Alexander sucked in a breath, heart pounding. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what made you punch him?”

“He was  _talking shit about trans people_ ,  Alexandria,” John said angrily. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be mad? Cause I want you to know right now that that’s not okay—“

“What? No, John—“

John barreled on, ignoring Alexander’s protests. “Trans people are _just_ as valid as you and me, get it? You shouldn’t be okay with someone talking shit about them, in fact, you shouldn’t allow it _period_ , Alexandria, if you’re transphobic, I—“

“John,  John,  I’m not transphobic.”

“Really? Cause it sounded like you were saying—“

“John, I’m  trans, ” Alexander said loudly, taking a deep breath. “I’m not transphobic, I’m _trans_.”

A beat. 

Then, “ _What_?!”

Alexander bit his lip, heart racing. “Yeah...”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you known?”

Alexander paused. How long had he known? “Always, I think. Kind of like needing glasses; I don’t remember when I didn’t.”

“Bro.”

Alexander held back a laugh. 

“So... pronouns?”

“He/him? If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, man, of course. And what’s your name? Unless you want to stick with Alexandria?”

“No, um, I’ve been calling myself Alexander in my head, if that’s okay? If not, that’s okay too, it’s not really—“

“No, hush, Alexander is fine. That’s a great name, man.”

Alexander grinned, the name on someone else’s tongue sending a spark of happiness through him. “Thank you.”

“Of course. So do the Washington’s know? Or Laf? Hercules?”

“No, just you.”

“Wow,” John breathed. “I’m honored.”

“I’m gonna need you to, like, misgender me in front of them.” 

“Yeah, of course man, whatever you need.”

Alexander grinned. “This doesn’t... change anything between us?”

John scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. So, Alex— can I call you Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“So,  _Alex_ ,  how was your day off from school?”

Alex bit his lip, debating wether or not to tell him. “It was okay. Just watched TV and cuddled with Laf all day.”

John hummed noncommittally. “Y’all doin anything this weekend? Herc wanted to go for cokes today, I think.”

“You gonna be able to get out?”

There was noise like John was shrugging. “I‘ll be there if the creek don’t rise.”

“Yeah, alright. Wait, did you call them cokes?”

“Yes?”

“What the  _fuck_. ”

“What?”

“It’s called soda, John.”

“No it’s not.”

“ _Yes_?!”

“No!”

“You great southern fuck, you’re worse than Jefferson.”

“You take that back. You take that back right now.”

“Make me,” Alexander teased.

“Maybe later. I’m gonna go to bed.”

Alexander laughed, rolling his eyes. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

The line went dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhhh I feel like this wasn’t that great plz like and comment ily


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all this bitch is back with another chapter of something that was supposed to be a one shot!!
> 
> I am writing this on my phone, I’m on vacation at the moment but once I get back in a few days I’ll go back and edit on my computer. 
> 
> TW: nothing really, it’s all pretty fluffy expect for the usual mentions of self-harm and all that
> 
> Enjoy!

Alexander was practically vibrating with energy, writing furiously in his journal, when Laf’s loud morning pop music suddenly blared in the next room over. Alex jumped, startled, before setting his journal down and creeping into Laf’s room. 

“Alexandria, mon petit lion!” Laf yelled over the music with a grin, spreading his arms wide. He was shirtless, as per usual in the mornings, and his hair was untied, making him look uncomfortably like Jefferson

Alexander raised an eyebrow at him and turned the music down a bit, ignoring Laf’s pouting face. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, cheri. How is your arm?”

Alexander shrugged, sitting on the chair at Laf’s desk and fiddling with the pristine white bandages. “I should probably redo them.”

Laf nodded. “Oui, oui. Here.”

Alexander took the roll of gauze with a nod and unwrapped his arm, staring at the swollen, angry red cuts. “Shit.”

Laf nodded again. “Oui.”

“Kids?” George knocked on the door and poked his head in, taking in the scene and clenching his jaw to hide its’ twitch. “Anything planned today?”

“John wanted to go for sodas,” Alex supplied, beginning to wrap his arm again. 

George thought for a moment, then nodded. “That should be fine. Make sure to stay together, alright? And if the boys want to come over tonight that’s fine, but, well, Alexandria, you know the rules; no sleeping in the same room as them. Sorry, kid, but they’re teenage boys and you’re a girl, and—“

Alexander sighed, tying off the bandage and cutting it from the roll with his teeth. “I know, George.”

He did know, but he also knew that as soon as the Washingtons went to bed he would be pulled into a huge cuddle pile on the living room floor with all three of the boys. 

George cracked a smile. “Sorry. You know how I am. Anyway, Martha and I are going out tonight, are you guys going to be okay on your own for dinner? I’ll leave $30 for pizza and sodas, if you want.”

“Oui, that sounds good. Thank you,” Laf replied, nodding. 

George hesitated before leaving, his gaze flicking between the two, before he sighed gently and left, closing the door behind him. 

Alexander looked down again. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

Alex nodded in the direction of the closed door. “All of you are treating me like I’m going to kill myself.”

“Mon ami, is that... is that not what you were attempting?” Laf cocked his head, looking like a confused puppy. 

Alex jerked, staring at the other man in shock. “What? No! I’m not suicidal, Jesus Christ!”

Laf threw his hands up, exasperated. “Mon ami, you cut yourself with a kitchen knife on the kitchen floor, what  else  could it have been?!”

Alex shook his head adamantly. “I’m not suicidal, I was just...” He chewed on his lip nervously and sighed. “I’m not suicidal. I’m not. The cutting just helps. I— I  like  it, almost. It grounds me, when I’m stressing over work or school or—“  _being trans_.  Alexander snapped his jaw shut. “It’s like how you blast rap music and John jokes and Herc mindlessly scrolls through Instagram and George works and Martha bakes. You all have your coping mechanisms. Me? I cut.”

“But it is not  _healthy_ ,  mon chou,” Laf whispered, kneeling in front of Alexander and taking the other’s hands in his own. “Me and the others have good coping mechanisms. Well, maybe not  _good_ ,  but they are not harmful.”

“Yeah, come tell me that when you go deaf,” Alexander muttered sulkily. “Or John gets his ass kicked. Or Herc ruins all his relationships because he can’t take his eyes off his phone. Or George passes out from exhaustion. Or Martha burns her hand off. None of it is fucking  _safe_ ,  Laf, it just so happens that mine is the one that freaks people out the most.”

Alexander stood and stalked out of the room, leaving Laf kneeling on the floor with a pained look on his face. 

Good, Alex thought. He was not some girl who needed to be cared for and fawned over. He was Alexander Hamilton, and he could take care of his own damn self. 

~*~*~

Half an hour before the other two boys were supposed to show up so they could go to the Burger Shack, the doorbell rang. 

Alex knit his brows together and stood from his desk, making his way down the stairs to their front door. 

He opened it and was immediately tackled in a bear hug by John. 

Alex staggered, trying not to fall, and returned the hug, grinning. “Well, hey there.”

“Hello, Alexander,” John replied meaningfully, squeezing his shoulders. “Ready to get pops?”

Alex pushed away, groaning. “Oh, fuck youuuu.”

John hummed, leaning forward on his toes and popping his gum, eyes glinting. “Maybe later, sweetheart.”

Alex’s brain short circuited and he just stood there, staring at him. 

John winked and walked around him, kicking off his shoes and skipping down the hallway to the kitchen. “Y’all got anything to eat? I am _starvin_ ’.”

Alex shook his head clear and followed, tugging nervously at the bandage on his wrist. “I don’t know, check the fridge. Where’s Herc?”

“On his way,” John said, grabbing a root beer from the fridge and opening it. He turned, leaning back against the granite counter top and taking a long sip. “He’s being all ‘oh, don’t wanna be early, it makes ya look too eager’,” John mimicked in a high voice, air quotes and all. “He’s a _weeeeeeird_ dude, Alex, I’m tellin ya.”

Alex smiled and breathed out harshly through his nose. “Mood.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You alright? You seem a little— hey, what’s on your arm?”

Alex sighed, already sick of answering this goddam question, and drug a hand down his face. “I cut myself.”

John frowned. “You mean...?”

Alex nodded, biting his lip. 

“Oh, bless your heart,” John breathed, setting his bottle down on the counter and pulling him into a hug. “Do the Washingtons know?”

Alex sighed and nodded. “Laf walked in on me. He cleaned them and wrapped them and then George came home and saw the blood in the carpet and said they were gonna send me to therapy and called Martha and she came home and stitched me up and then I called you and, well, went from there, you know.”

John nodded, pulling back. “I know. You know you can always call me, right? Anytime, day or night.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Alexander said, nodding, knowing he was not going to do that. 

“Hey,” John grabbed Alex by the chin and turned his head, forcing him to meet John’s earnest brown eyes. “I’m serious, Alexander. I love you, sweetheart, and I don’t sleep much anyway.”

Alex nodded. “Thank you.”

Laf came down the stairs, skipping the last step and landing lightly on the hardwood floor. “Ah, John, mon ami! How are you?”

John shrugged, that easy grin taking over his face and making Alex’s heart flutter. “Finer than a frog hair split four ways, how bout y’all?”

Laf stopped in his tracks, staring at the man. “What.”

John cocked his head. “What?”

“What— What is a ‘frog hair split four ways’,” Laf imitated in an atrociously southern accent, making him sound uncomfortably like Jefferson. 

John shrugged. “It’s a saying.”

Laf blinked. “A saying.”

“Yeah, like, like, ‘happier than a dead pig in the sun’,” John supplied. “It just means ‘I’m good’.”

Laf looked stricken, mouth hanging open in shock. “Why would a _dead pig_ be _happy_?!”

John flailed his hands around. “I don’t know! It’s just- it’s a thing!”

Alex burst out laughing, covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh my god.” He wheezed, bending at the waist. The combination was too much— Laf’s French accent wrapped around American words, his constant confusion over John’s stupid Southern euphemisms, John’s inability to explain said Southern euphemisms, and the stress from the past few days were making Alexander loopy. 

John and Laf exchanged a glance. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex took a deep breath and finally calmed himself down, standing up straight and wiping a tear from his eye. “I’m good, I’m good.”

He shook his head. “Go on.”

John rolled his eyes. “Herc’s gonna be here in a minute.”

The doorbell rang. 

“That’s him,” John said, skipping to the door and pulling it open with a flourish. “Herc, my man!” He pulled the burly man into a brief hug with plenty of back slapping and hand shaking. “Aight, y’all ready to go? The Burger Shack’s chicken fried steak is calling my name, and I want a coke.”

“A coke or a soda?” Alex asked, following the others out the door. 

John turned and pointed at him, curly hair glowing in the afternoon sunshine. “You shut the fuck up.”

~*~*~

“You cut yourself,” Herc repeated, staring blankly at Alex. “Like—?”

Alexander nodded, staring out the window.

They were seated in the (almost empty) Burger Shack, Alexander and Herc on the inside of the booths with John and Lafayette beside them. 

Alex was nursing a coke (a real one) while John had a Sprite and was hungrily digging into a chicken fried steak with gravy and mashed potatoes. Herc had a cheeseburger and fries, while Laf happily licked an ice cream cone. 

Herc breathed out silently and reached across the table to tap the back of Alex’s hand. He said nothing, just stared at Alex until the Caribbean man turned and met his eyes. 

Herc gave him a half cocked smile. “If you need me, you have my number.”

Alex swallowed. “Thanks, Herc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was bad but I’m going to roll with it
> 
> Please like and comment, and thanks for reading y’all ily 😘

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gents, I AM from the south and the phrases John uses are actual phrases I heard constantly from my growing up. Of course, I’m from Georgia and he’s from South Carolina, but I figured it was close enough.
> 
> Thanks for reading 😘❤️


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